Spin Dry
I have fond memories from when I was a young boy when my dad drying me after a bath.
In the living room, we would lay a towel out flat on the ground. I would stand in the middle facing the short end, with the long ends by my sides. He would collect the corners and spin me around flying high, almost touching the ceiling. My mum could never watch.
I would squeal with laughter, he would grin with joy. When it finishes I would ask to fly again and again. It was a joyful time, it is a wholesome memory.
I now get to relive that from the other side, where I spin and swing my own children around. This time in their bedrooms. I hear the same laughter, joy and delight. Then when the ride stops, I take a moment to catch my brief, they cheer for more. I can only oblige, to be on the other side ...spinning the towel is a privilege of a lifetime. I grip hard, white knuckles, to ensure they never fly out. My wife cannot watch.